


All In Your Head

by ColorInPlatinum



Category: RWBY
Genre: Falling In Love, Hallucinations, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Poison, Trans Male Character, Trans Tyrian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9220412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorInPlatinum/pseuds/ColorInPlatinum
Summary: tyrian and qrow think back on their fight.





	1. Qrow

The kids all passed out about an hour ago. Qrow's been nursing his flask to the last drop, and even now he still raises it to his lips despite it being empty. His side burns, every nerve alight with a white hot pain--but he's not about to wake Ruby up and risk hurting her again. Not in the middle of the woods, with Grimm around every corner. Not when he's wounded like this.

Red eyes are cast to the stars above him, teeth grit to keep pained groans from escaping him. He can't get his mind off that fight earlier today. That huntsman, Tyrian, how he fought, how he spoke. It all felt so familiar and so foreign.

Ozpin once told Qrow that fighting and dancing were not too different. Tyrian seemed to take that to heart, twirling like a ballet dancer and gliding around Qrow's attacks like he was waltzing. Even when the faunus' tail tore across Qrow's flesh, it was smooth, elegant, precise--

Still nothing in the flask. Qrow sets it next to him and tears his eyes away from the stars. Pain shoots through his side and he doubles over, coughing into his arm to try and muffle the noise. He hears Ruby move in her sleeping bag and he looks up--only to come back-to-face with the scorpion himself.

Qrow's arm shoots toward his blade, but the movement nearly cripples him, the pain in his side worsening in protest.

"Now, now, I wouldn't move like that if I were you," Tyrian coos. "You've still got a good few days before the venom is done with you." That laugh slips from the huntsman's lips, and his tail curls behind him, still in one piece. Qrow looks to the growing purple stain on his side and his shoulders droop; hallucinations. The venom causes hallucinations.

"So, is this my brain tryin' to make me feel bad about that fight?" Qrow asks. "'bout your tail?"

Tyrian--though this is clearly not the hunter--laughs and shakes his head.

"This isn't about me at all. Like you said: I'm all in your head. I'll say whatever you want me to say." He licks his lips. "I exist because you make me exist. I could have been anyone."

The faunus' form shimmers, and suddenly Qrow's sister is standing before him, her eyes that same shade of purple. "I could have been Raven," she says, before shimmering into the brightly clad form of his honorary brother. "or Taiyang," This time, the figure is clad in mostly white, her face barely visible, but Qrow knows the voice. "or Summer." And then Tyrian returns, Cheshire grin painted prominently across his features. "But for some reason, you chose me. So here I am."

Qrow feels his gut churn, but he can't tell if it's from the venom coursing through his blood or the sight of his team in such a short span. "Guess that says a lot about my state of mind, doesn't it?" he groans.

"Either that, or whiskey and poison wasn't as delicious a cocktail as you were expecting." Tyrian shoots back. Qrow, against his better judgement, laughs.

"Guess I shoulda seen that comin'. Have a seat, can't hurt to have some company." he says, gesturing to the grass next to him. Tyrian nods in silent thanks and sits, his legs tucked underneath him and his tail curling around his ankles.

"So, Qrow Branwen," the hallucination coos. "just what are you going to do now?" Those piercing purple eyes flash upward, boring into red, and Qrow feels a chill run down his spine.

"I dunno," he admits. "haven't gotten that far."

"You're going to be a burden no matter what." Tyrian giggles. "Regardless of your wounds, you're still a bad luck charm."

Qrow keeps himself from spitting profanities at the scorpion, partially because he knows it won't faze him and partially because he knows it's just his thoughts giving themselves a voice. "I know." he finally croaks out. "And even if I wasn't, this wound's gonna slow me down. I'll be a burden." He cocks a brow. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"My pleasure," comes Tyrian's sing-song voice.

They were moving so quickly before that Qrow didn't really get a good look at Tyrian. Up close, he's well built: defined arms, a toned abdomen. The scars that criss-cross over the hunter's chest are faded, deep, a sign of age. Qrow wonders for a moment just what caused them; they don't look like Grimm markings. Tyrian's hair is meticulously braided, not a hair out of place, and tied at the end with a purple silk ribbon. He's young, Qrow can tell that much, but his face is covered in lines from a lifetime of laughter; wrinkles edging at Tyrian's eyes, the lines around his mouth, and the telltale sign of sleep-deprived bags beneath those haunting purple eyes. Tyrian is almost... pretty.

"I'm your enemy you know," Tyrian interrupts. "You shouldn't think of me like that."

Qrow looks utterly confused for a moment, until one of Tyrian's long fingers taps the side of his temple. All in your head. Qrow sighs, his chest stinging from the movement.

"Well, if you're not actually him, I guess it wouldn't hurt to just say everything out loud, now would it?" Qrow fires back through grit teeth. "After all, it's not like my own hallucination's gonna deliver the message."

Tyrian giggles. "No, I suppose not."

"Well then," In the absence of a full flask, Qrow rips up a handful of grass and lets it fall from his hand before he shoots the hunter a strained but playful smirk. "I guess you won't mind if I tell you that you're one helluva fighter? Really gave me a run for my money back there. Still not sure how it woulda panned out if Ruby didn't jump in. Wouldn't'a minded havin' to look atcha a little longer either."

He can't help himself; he winks at Tyrian, which earns a giggle from the crouched faunus.

"I feel like we've met before," Qrow says. "Not me and you--I know I know you." he adds. "The real Tyrian. Felt familiar when he talked. Didn't recognize his fighting though." He shrugs. "Who knows, maybe we hooked up a few villages back."

"You were too drunk to remember." Tyrian says nonchalantly. "And I am a villain; if we did, as you so aptly put, 'hook up' it was likely so I could get information out of you."

"Did you?" Qrow asks. Tyrian cocks a brow and taps his temple again. "Right. Hallucination. All in my head."

Silence falls over the two--over Qrow--only interrupted by the occasional snore from Nora or the distant howl of a Beowolf.

"So..." Qrow mutters, breaking the silence. "...guess it wouldn't do much if I asked to kiss you?"

He's dying anyway. If he can't get laid one more time, he might as well make out one more time. Of course, that's a fairly dubious possibility, considering the person he's asking doesn't technically exist.

So he's all the more shocked when he feels a weight in his lap and warm lips on his.

Tyrian's eyes are half-lidded, but open, and when they meet Qrow's, he grins. They're still violet--still not real. Qrow doesn't have the time or the energy to wonder how the hell this is even happening. Instead, he weakly places his hands on the hunter's hips, pulling him in closer. Tyrian's hands move to Qrow's cheeks before sliding into his hair, cold fingers curling into the choppy, black-grey locks. Qrow is the first to part his lips, but Tyrian eagerly follows suit, his tongue slipping into Qrow's mouth.

The kiss is far gentler than Qrow would have imagined Tyrian would be like, but maybe that's because gentle is all he can handle at the moment. At one point, Qrow tries to roll his hips against Tyrian's, but pain shoots through his side and Tyrian promptly places a hand on the huntsman's chest to calm him. Never once does Tyrian stop kissing him.

Qrow feels Tyrian's tail curl around his waist, not tightly, but enough to pull them closer still. The armored plates are cold, even through Qrow's clothing, but he doesn't protest. After all, his tongue is still in Tyrian's mouth, and vice versa; this isn't the strangest thing that's happened since the hunter's appearance.

It feels like they've been locked like this for hours when Qrow finally pulls back. His shoulders heave and his chest moves rapidly, both because of the lack of breath and the pain that grows steadily worse. Tyrian grins, but says nothing, his eyes still boring holes into the huntsman.

Qrow reaches up to stroke Tyrian's cheek, to tell him that maybe, in another life, if Qrow wasn't like he is, they could have--

He's gone. Qrow blinked, and Tyrian vanished. Qrow's hand hovers over nothing, and the only warmth he feels is from the dying fire in front of him.

A cough wracks his body and he doubles over, Tyrian forgotten for a moment. When Qrow pulls his hand back, he can see the purple stain growing even larger beneath his bandages. Part of him wants to wake Ruby and tell her, but part of him just wants to lay against this tree, listening to the night around him, and imagine that chilling laughter in his ear one more time before he turns to dust...


	2. Tyrian

It hurts.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS.

Every step is agony and every movement sends needles prickling along his skin. Tears pour down his cheeks, forced out by the unimaginable pain, but he can't stop moving or he'll fail her even further.

Purple blood trails behind him, the farthest pools turning black in their own wake.

"She'll forgive you..." Tyrian whispers. "She'll forgive you, she'll forgive you, she'll--GAH!" He trips over a rock and hits the ground with a thud. Tyrian gasps for air as if he was drowning and scrambles back to his feet, fresh tears dripping from his cheeks. The blood he left behind on the ground is in a much larger pool than the last few.

It's getting dark. Traveling at night wouldn't normally be an issue for him, but in this state, he's in no shape to fight, should anyone or anything come along. He'll have to make camp and pray that he can still feel his legs in the morning.

It takes Tyrian a good hour or so to get a fire started and his cot rolled out. Once everything is finally finished, he sits down (trying not to scream) and begins the slow process of bandaging his wounded tail. He whispers obscenities and insults under his breath as he goes, most of them directed at the little rose whose thorns he was unable to avoid.

Once his tail is wrapped enough that the blood seems to slow, he reaches up to his nose, which is crusted over with blackened blood. He's honestly surprised that the thing's not broken, but he'll be more surprised to find it's not at least bruised. He scrubs the blood from his face, careful not to agitate the wound further.

Qrow Branwen. To think, a single punch was all it took to stun Tyrian into submission. It sent his senses haywire and he couldn't see a thing until it was almost too late to attack. If Branwen wasn't so set on getting revenge for Tyrian wounding his niece, the huntsman could have walked away from the fight and Tyrian couldn't have stopped him.

He smiles. Then he giggles. Then he's cackling, despite how much it hurts.

He got to fight Qrow Branwen.

If he dies tomorrow, Tyrian can die happy knowing he got to face off against one of the best huntsmen in existence and won.

The speed of Qrow's attacks, the strength in every hit, the cocky smirk that was painted across his face through most of the fight--Tyrian never thought he'd be able to fight someone so equally matched to his own power.

It felt like a dance, their fight. Their steps counteracted perfectly, like gears moving in harmony, and every attack seemed both choreographed and randomized. It was the hardest fight Tyrian's ever been in. It was the best fight Tyrian's ever been in.

He blinks and jolts back a bit, wincing at the pain in his back and the stinging in his eyes from staring at the fire for too long. He has to sleep if he wants to make it back to Salem's fortress in one piece tomorrow.

Tyrian lays back on his cot, but immediately sits back up, crying out at the pain of laying like that. He gathers himself and lies on his side instead, the flips to his stomach. It's uncomfortable, but at least there's no pressure on his wounded tail.

Tyrian's golden eyes watch the fire of a bit longer and he pulls his arms in tight to stay warm. He wants to sleep, has to sleep, but his mind keeps wandering back to that fight.

He's never fought someone like that before, never been able to fight someone who seemed to know his every move. They fit together, like puzzle pieces from two different pictures. Qrow waltzed, twisted, spun, danced around every swing Tyrian sent at him, dark gray hair sweeping over crimson eyes and a snarl marring that gorgeous face--

Tyrian is actually pulled from his reverie by the noise that leaves his own mouth. He turns red and pulls his hand away from his legs, his wounded tail curling lazily around his ankle. He has to stay focused, he has a mission, but god, he can still hear Qrow's voice in his head.

Tyrian hesitates. What's the worst that could happen? It could take his mind off the pain in his spine, if nothing else.

Burying his face into his cot' pillow, he lets his hand return to its place between his legs, rubbing gently through the fabric as he tries to picture the huntsman's face in front of his again. That snarl turning into a grin just before Tyrian began firing from his gauntlets...

He muffles a moan into his pillow and his knees lock together. The sudden movement sends fire along his nerves, and he counteracts by hurriedly shoving his hand down the front of his pants. The chill of his fingers makes him whimper again, but he's not going to stop now, especially considering that the pleasure was already beginning to outweigh the pain.

Tyrian's fingers circle aimlessly along the hood of his clit, clenching his teeth to try and keep himself quiet. It's not his strong suit to begin with, after all.

Qrow's crimson eyes burn into him, even in his memories, and Tyrian can't help the breathy giggle that slips through his lips as he lets his fingers delve deeper. His tail tightens around his ankle despite the pain, but the odd sensation of fire in his spine and heaven in his stomach makes him moan and thrust his fingers into himself.

He tries to imagine that it's Qrow's hand in his pants instead, imagines the huntsman's hot breath against his ear as he whispers, "You're mine, now," in that deep, husky tone. Tyrian can smell the alcohol on Qrow's breath as he twists his fingers within himself, can feel the warmth of skin-on-skin as he bucks against his hand. Laughter and moans string together as Tyrian continues to move, imagining Qrow's mouth on his to silence the noises.

It's no surprise that he can't hang on for too long, what with his weakened state. Tyrian doesn't try to muffle his cry as he cums, trying his hardest to imagine what it might feel like to have the huntsman do the same inside him.

Tyrian pants softly into his pillow, his nerves alight with pleasure, and slowly pulls his hand from his pants. His fingers are slick and his smile is almost drunken as he licks them clean. Unsurprisingly, it's a taste he's quite accustomed to.

With the pain of his tail temporarily forgotten and arousal still hanging over him, Tyrian shuts his eyes and nuzzles into his cot. Pain-induced delirium, tainted with post-orgasmic pleasure make it possible for him to feel the huntsman's arms around him. He can imagine with perfect clarity, Qrow whispering in his ear, "Good job, gorgeous."

He'll pay for this in the morning, he's sure of it, but at least he can sleep peacefully tonight, and dream of the huntsman hanging over him.


End file.
